


Wish

by TomAyto10



Series: Kinktober 2019 [5]
Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 15:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20950703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomAyto10/pseuds/TomAyto10
Summary: KINKTOBER 2019FrottageMen study the stars. I have decided to be an expert in another subject, inventing constellations in the sprinkle of freckles that decorate Patroclus' back and thighs.





	Wish

Men study the stars. I have decided to be an expert in another subject, inventing constellations in the sprinkle of freckles that decorate Patroclus' back and thighs. 

He's half asleep, murmuring as I trace lines from dot to dot. I have drained him from energy with my mouth and hands in the few hours we have had together. He tries to keep himself awake, knowing I must leave him come dawn to spill blood another day. 

His bare naked body calls to me, its own silent siren's song, and I am useless to resist. 

I feel offset by his confession, the thought of a woman wanting his body and seed, things for which I had never once feared would be in danger of being taken from me. 

Patroclus has only eyes for me and I only heart and desire for him.

But the anatolian women, one who I remember no as I think of her dark rich hair and the brightness of her eyes. I think of her huddled in my place beside Patroclus, like a small brown feathered bird safe and hid in his gentle hand. 

My heart aches, fear grips me once again and I lay across him again, moving his sleep limp body so that his peace filled face faces mine. 

Patroclus is stirring, his body responding to my touch as if his soul is a mirror to mine. 

He is still wet between his legs, the tang of olive oil still permeates the air and I slide myself there, resting hot to where he is soft. 

Patroclus whimpers, pleasure seeping from him as I grip his face, tasting sweet under my tongue like a crushed fig as I kiss open mouthed at his cheek and temple.

He is mine. For all that has been given to me, adulation and war prizes, admiration and fame, this is what I wish to claim and have above all; Patroclus melting under my fingers, his large honey eyes hazed in pleasure and his gentle hands gripping into my back. 

This is mine, I claim, greedy as I kiss him, licking into the grooves of his teeth and rubbing where we are slick and hard to heighten our union into ecstasy. 

Patroclus moans, he clings, and I know that the Anatolian women and her ideas of motherhood with he who is mine are as far away as Hades. 

I suck on his neck, purpling the skin so that when all see him tomorrow they will remember.

Patroclus doesn't protest, bends into me, shifting harder so that our cocks swell and press, causes us to gasp. He never turns me away, never denies me anything. Not after the discovery of my child, when he retreated from me and my heart rang in fear and panic and dread, when pain and death would better then his face turning from me, not since then has he kept my desires denied. 

He only wants me, my joy and happiness. Never could there be one so  _ selfish _ , so  _ selfless _ than Patroclus. I love him, I love him more than words or lifetimes can ever say. 

I am a god with him, I am power and war and more immortal than my mother could ever hope to make me with Patroclus at my side.

Completion is on the rise, my blood sings, pleasure rocks my body and I press my hips to his, the cot shaking, my hands reach for his, my mouth devours his sounds, insatiable for every bit of him. 

I watch him, in a way only I can watch him, as pleasure takes hold of him, his eyes squeezing tight, his chest heaving, hips spasming as he releases warm and sluggish over his belly. 

He reaches out to me, and I fold into him, wishing to be part of him, wishing to curl into his chest and settle warm next to his heart. 

My completion shakes me, my mouth stuttering as I worship his mouth with kisses and words that are not words. 

I lay into his neck, his fingers curling through my hair, the air is a mix of olive oil and sex, and my heart finally at rest. It can only beat at peace when beat in tune with Patroclus. 

I will rise again tomorrow. I will kill and conquer, and then I will return to him. 

What I wish; for I to take the whole world, to rip down the very stars, and make the gods themselves fear. 

And after, I wish to return to this place, my body limp and sated in the arms of he who I worship. That is what I wish. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow @dipuc_ on Twitter for more daily drabbles!


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